The Routine
by Scarlet Secret
Summary: Hermione's observations of somebody she, today at least, can't bring herself to hate.


The Routine

It took Hermione five days into the so-called "works experience" to realise exactly how the routine progressed; the only thing that was ever different was the man.

The collection of men that worked at the Daily Prophet was not vast however everyday Hermione saw one that she had never known before. It was her opinion that the entire "works experience" endeavour was immensely pointless and therefore Hermione had gone into the fortnight with a view to spy. She wanted to know the extent to the influence the Ministry had over the newspaper.

So far she knew exactly zilch. The stories were dull but they were reporting all the right information. The news was being reported but it seemed to Hermione that it had lost its appeal. The news no longer had any sparkle. But at least it was now all honest, thanks to the writing hiatus of a certain reporter. Which brought Hermione's mind back round to the routine happening before her eyes.

Everyday Rita Skeeter would enter the Daily Prophet canteen with a different man carrying her bag, or at least she had done everyday since Hermione had been there. After a few moments the man would vanish without receiving a word from Rita, he would usually join some chatting and laughing young journalists leaving the bored-looking woman alone.

She always spent a few minutes just sitting in her corner seat, breathing deeply and enjoying the silence that had descended upon her. No upcoming young journalist to ask for advice. No photographers begging for approval. No younger, prettier girls to sneer at her. No older woman asking, "How does she do it?" No typewriters; no quills scratching; no people talking all around her. And most definitely no young schoolgirls following her round, demanding another article.

After a few moments of reflection Rita would reach into her handbag which, Hermione noted, was always the same green snakeskin effect thing, and she would retrieve some meticulously wrapped sandwiches. The silver foil surrounding them was always neat to the very edges, folded with not apiece out of place. The obvious care that Rita or somebody else out into this food wrapping made Hermione feel guilty about buying her food.

Rita would slide her left index finger, always the same finger, underneath the corners and would unfold the meal with a precision that made Hermione think briefly she wanted to re-use the foil, but she knew this was not the case. Even with her considerable income drop Rita could surely still afford tin foil.

At this point Hermione always made a point of draining her glass of water, without even realising that she was trying to ingratiate herself into Rita's routine. She noted that Rita would always chew off her crusts first and Hermione amused herself by thinking Rita had learnt from her mother that crusts would make your hair curly. Hermione's own mother had explained this miraculous fact to her time and time again, however she was unsure about Rita.

It was on these occasions that she realised she knew nothing about Rita Skeeter except for her profession, and she had deprived Rita of that. She knew that Rita was an Animagus, a fact, she discovered, she resented more than anything else. It was good people like Professor McGonagall, who had never set a foot wrong, who deserved this ability, not parasites like Rita, who had not earned anything. Hermione knew, deep down, that this logic was nonsense; she knew it was utterly impossible that Professor McGonagall was as pure as the driven snow and she grudgingly admitted that Rita had probably worked hard.

After Rita had finished nimbly eating her meal she would throw the foil several feet to her right with an utterly bizarre accuracy that made Hermione certain that she had once been a chaser, and it would always land on target. Hermione had never seen her miss. She doubted Rita's routine would stand for something to change.

After this she would pull out a bottle of what Hermione hoped was water but suspected was something stronger; she wouldn't put it past Rita. For a good five minutes after this Rita would simply sit at her lone table in deep thought. On these occasions Hermione always had to resist the urge to go and sit with Rita and enquire what was so bad that it made Rita Skeeter look on the verge of tears.

What Hermione had not counted on was that Rita would look at her, directly in the eye, without so much as changing her expression. For a split second Hermione thought that Rita would come and say something to her, however the older woman simply nodded in acknowledgement and left the canteen.

Couldn't upset the routine.


End file.
